Ghost in a Machine
by Jade Nolan
Summary: Alec Hardy has little left in his life, and he decides to roll the dice.
1. Staying Afloat

**A/N: **_Just a disclaimer that all original character rights belong to ITV, no matter how much I want Alec Hardy for myself_

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**_Chapter 1: Staying Afloat_**

"Here, hold him a second," the woman said, thrusting the baby that had been in her arms, at Alec.

He caught the baby awkwardly, and just held it at arms length for a brief moment in stunned disbelief. The two of them stared at each other, neither of them breaking solemn, unblinking eye contact. As the woman fumbled at the bottom of her pocket for her keys, Alec, knowing he couldn't keep hanging the baby from underneath his armpits, pulled the infant close, bracing himself for sudden screaming.

But the baby just continued to stare at Alec with the seriousness of a displeased professor. They made quite the pair, and had this frown-y face showdown been a competition, it would have been difficult to say who would have won - Alec, or the baby.

As it was, they were both distracted when the woman dropped her keys as she was trying to unlock the boot of her car and had to bite back a string of tired, frustrated swearing. "Here," said Alec, shifting the baby to one arm and reaching down. He didn't even think; the movement was as natural as breathing, and it only after he stood up that he realized just how comfortable he felt holding this baby. The infant too seemed perfectly content balanced on his arm and still staring into his face.

"Thank you," the woman said, relieved gratitude flooding her voice, "And thanks for helping."

"Not at all," Alec replied as he helped her load her cart of groceries into the car, the baby snugged securely against his side and shoulder.

"You looked like you needed an extra hand," Alec said.

"More like an extra six," the woman said wryly, "Well, I got to get going. Thanks again."

Alec looked back down into the baby's face before handing him back. The same calm, wide-eyed straight face frown-y stare greeted him, and Alec suddenly felt reluctant to give the infant back. He'd forgotten what it was like to hold a baby, forgotten the amazingness of accepting the the complete and unquestioning trust of a tiny human being.

But the baby was now intrigued by the perpetual 4-day scruff that Alec gave only token maintenance to. Alec looked dubiously down as the baby reached a hand up and tentatively patted his beard, pulling his hand back and turning it over and over trying to figure out the prickly sensation, before solemnly repeating the process, but with both hands.

The woman laughed. "He likes you,"she said.

"I don't know about that," Alec replied skeptically. But there was an undeniable softness now in his voice. It had been so long, so long since he had felt a caring touch from anyone, let alone hands this tiny. He wanted to hang on to this moment, cling to the spark of warmth that had started in his chest - a spark that fed a trickle of hope through him. It wasn't much; just enough to make him feel as though he wasn't being held underwater and drowning. But he knew he couldn't. "You have a beautiful baby," he said with a small smile, handing the infant back to the woman.

"Thanks," she smiled back, "And thanks again for your help."

Alec nodded, "No problem." He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked away, still guarding that tiny speck of warmth. It was all he had. But for now it was enough. Although that went to show just how little he had. Still, it was something, something to get him through another day - baby hands smacking his face. Funny thing, he thought, the hope a child can bring without them even trying. Maybe he'd try calling his daughter again.


	2. Ghost in a Machine

_**Chapter 2: Ghost in a Machine**_

Alec's heart jumped when he heard the first, "Hello!", but it plummeted with a feeling that left him with lead in his stomach and an all too familiar pain in his chest at her continued voice of, "_…leave a message and I'll get back to ya! Bye!_"

The same. Always the same. He shouldn't have let himself think this time would be any different. But hope is always the last thing to die in the heart, no matter how stern we are with ourselves.

There was the beep telling him to leave his message… telling him he was once again talking to a ghost in a machine, trying to hold on to the sound of her bubbly voice in her message prompt as a grasping connection to something good, something that brought a fleeting warmth to his bleak life.

There might have been a time where he would have felt bitterness and anger at only getting her voicemail yet again, but he was too tired for that, too done with fighting back. All he wanted was to hear from her and let her know just how much he missed her and cared about her.

If Miller had been there, she would have been stunned at the difference in tone his voice took on. It softened, became the voice of the dad who'd stayed up listening to the trials and tribulations and drama that belong only to the world of a six year old.

"HI, it's me, checking up with your voicemail as usual. Listen, if you get the chance, give me a call. It's been a really long time this time."

And it had. He ached thinking about just how long it had been. At this point he wouldn't have cared if all she did was talk to him long enough to say "_Hi_" while she walked in to school.

"And I know you're busy with school and home and all the other things you do, but…. I do think about you, everyday…" he paused to collect himself, to swallow the feeling of desperation that crept into his throat and to collect himself, "Sorry, not getting soppy, sorry…you had my word on that."

She had. When it had become clear that his life was drifting away from hers and he had made the geographical move away, away from her school and friends and life.

_"I can call you, right? Keep up with what you're doing and at all that?" he had asked._

_With a typical teenage sigh and plant of her hand on her hip she had replied, "Yeah, of course. So long as you don't go getting all gooey or embarrassing or anything like that."_

_He had laughed and promised._

At first she either answered or returned his calls on a semi-regular basis, but it was hard to stay actually in touch when he hadn't actually seen her in….it killed him to think how long it had been…and the time between getting to even talk to her had gotten longer and longer.

"We could, um…ah…do, video call, couldn't we? I'd like that. You could be, you could be my first video call…" he could hear his own desperation now, but he couldn't help it, "…before you forget what I look like."

He was afraid, so afraid. He was losing her and he knew it, and he felt utterly powerless to do anything about it. His girl. His baby girl. The one he had held in absolute amazement when she had been born. The one who had gotten him soaked at bathtime more times than he could count. The he'd had to bribe into doing her homework with promises of extra videogame time when her mother wasn't around. The one he'd taken for hikes and explored chambered cairns with in the windswept, bleak northernmost part of Scotland.

And now all he had left was begging into her voicemail. He clamped down on the vacuum that was building to a roar in his chest.

"Right, well, that's me. This is dad signing off. I love you darling."

The roar crescendoed until it filled his ears and his voice threatened to break.

"Please give me a ring."

He hung up.

A little voice started whispering to him that he'd never speak to her again, that all he'd ever get would be her voicemail, that all she'd do was see his number and the message symbol and immediately let out a disgusted sigh and delete it.

The vacuum of desperation grew. He had to do something… had to work… had to do anything to get his mind off it all. Where was that report that stupid SOCO Brian had left him earlier? He rummaged around on his desk. It wasn't there. He'd just had it a hour earlier!

His mind rapidly spinning past the point of control, he barged out of his small office into the half-darkened common area. They'd all left. Every single one. He was alone with only the quiet hum of the building to echo the roar that filled his ears.

Where was the damn report?!

He strode over to Miller's desk and rifled through the folders that covered it. It wasn't there. Nor was it on the desk that faced hers. His spinning frustration grew more desperate as he tore through practically every folder and piece of paper in the entire office. He had to find it. He had to!

Suddenly he found himself face to face with the pinboard of the pathetic progress they'd made towards finding Danny's killer. The boy's picture stared accusingly at him, demanding to why he hadn't been brought to justice yet.

Alec couldn't even think anymore and he felt the room start to constrict in on him.

He rifled through a stack of papers next to the printer. Not there. NO! He couldn't even find a single damn report! What fuck good was he?! He tried to take deep gulping breaths to push back against the monster that was eating him. But it was no good. His failure to even be able to find even a single report that he'd been looking for, broke him, and he could no longer ignore the crushing grief and defeat that he'd been trying to hold back.

He slid down the wall, shaky, and with an eerie sense of panic calm… a moment of quiet where the rushing in his ears and head fell to the background and acted to muffle all sounds except the pounding of his heart… a blip in time before the tidal wave of loss and failure and grief and despair crashed over him, the pain so intense he didn't even know what to do with himself.

He sat alone in the dim office: a single, broken figure, swallowed up by the indifferent and uncaring night.


End file.
